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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #849
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Pixie Dust"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Ugliness Man
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/24/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Every time I leave Pixie's apartment, I feel warm and happy. Kinda
like visiting a Grandmother, or a Kindergarten teacher. She's not old,
she's only in her late 20's like me, but she has that big, loving way about
her. Just like you can always smell cookies baking at Grandma's house,
there's always incense burning at Pixie's. And just like a Kindergarten
teacher disciplines the little ones only when necessary, Pixie never
criticizes, she only points out mistakes and sets you straight.
I'll never forget the day Sam introduced me to Pixie. The two of us
were sitting at the E-Caf?, and Sam was talking about some bizarre movie she
just got at a flea market, when her watch started beeping.
"Damn it, I didn't realize it was getting so late"
"Ya gotta be somewhere?"
"Yeah, I'm meeting Pixie at her place."
"Pixie?"
"Shit, that's right, you haven't met her yet. Hey, come with me, I
want her to meet ya"
"Uh... okay"
On the way, she explained to me that she couldn't tell me Pixie's
real name because she didn't know it herself. When they had met 2 months
before, she had only said "Call me Pixie", and since then, the subject of
her real name just never came up. I was slightly intrigued, but still
apprehensive. It was in the part of the city where many of the buildings
are "balding" (missing shingles), and about every third or fourth street
light is either flickering or out completely.
As we walked up the stairs, I could immediately smell the incense.
Sam opened the door without knocking, and inside the warm, candle-lit
apartment, was Pixie. I sort of noticed all the objects that decorated the
apartment, but I first noticed Pixie, and it was hard to notice anything
else. She looked just like someone named Pixie should look. Pinkish
glitter makeup above her eyes and on her cheeks, a tiara made of flowers
adorning her long, curly blond hair, and a green dress made of many thin
layers of silk, her slip just barely visible underneath. My first thoughts
ranged from amusement to cynicism to disbelief. But after the introductions
and a very intelligent, stimulating conversation, I was sure Pixie was not a
flake, but simply a lovely, slightly mysterious woman. I felt like I could
be her friend for life, but, as lovely as she was, there were initially no
thoughts of becoming romantically involved. Even when she gave me the kiss
and hug that she gives everyone for hello and goodbye, there were no sexual
thoughts in my head. And being introduced to her was like suddenly becoming
a part of a new family. Now Sam was my sister, not just an ex-girlfriend
turned best friend. I was finally able to admit to Don that I was mad at
him for breaking my grandfather's antique musket, and then I could forgive
him. And I can hang around with Steph without thinking all those negative
thoughts about her voice and hair; instead, I can hear what she's saying,
and see the person she is. All thanks to Pixie.
Now, as I'm leaving Pixie's apartment, I'm starting to lose my grip
on whatever it was that prevented the romantic thoughts at first. She
called me up this morning just as I was getting out of bed. She had just
read a great chicken recipe, and needed a taste tester, so she wanted me to
join her for supper. Of course I agreed, the only alternative being
microwaved lasagna. As we ate and talked, nothing about her or the
apartment seemed different, but as the fragrance of the incense combined
with the chicken, I started to look at her differently. Her perfect smile
and imperfect hair suddenly held a new meaning for me, and I had an image in
my head of me reaching out and gently touching her cheek, inviting a kiss.
Right now, I can't even remember what the conversation was about, all I can
think of is that face, and how much more loving the goodbye kiss felt to me.
I wish she was psychic, like a lot of people as mysterious as her
claim to be. Then she might understand how I feel, and she could help me
resolve it. Who knows? Most women seem to have an ability to see feelings
others are trying to hide, maybe she can tell, but isn't letting on. I
don't want to tell her outright. She might be embarrassed. She might be
afraid to reject me and hurt my feelings. I don't want to back her into a
corner like that. I don't want to risk losing her as a friend. But I'm
almost thinking of avoiding contact with her, try to let my feelings cool
off before they start to heat up.
Arrgh!! I gotta get to bed, try to get her out of my head. First,
I'll turn on the computer to check my email. 35 seconds for the computer to
boot up, 20 seconds to log on, 40 seconds to retrieve my email... over a
minute and a half of trying to get her out of my mind. Let's see... huh?
E-mail from Pixie? She doesn't even have a computer. The return address is
sbarlow@chblock.org... Sam!! The send time is 10 minutes after I left
Pixie's. She must've went over to Sam's right after I left.
> Robert, please call me when you get this message. I
know you've got something on your mind, and I think I
figured it out after you left. Huggles... Pixie :)
Well, I guess she's a little psychic after all. Should I call her
right now? In the message she wasn't evasive or too serious, she was just
as light-hearted and slightly silly as she usually is, so maybe she doesn't
know what I'm thinking. If she did, wouldn't she be a little more serious?
Then again, she rarely talks about romance, so I don't really know what her
style would be.
I quit smoking months ago, but all this is almost making me crave a
cigarette. Or a drink. No, I'm not gonna do that. I'm just going to call
her. My natural guy instinct is to put it off until tomorrow, pretend I
didn't check my messages, but being Pixie's friend for so long has given me
a certain level of honesty and integrity, as well as courage and respect,
that go against the nature of being a 'guy'.
I pick up the phone, not knowing at all what to say or what to
expect. I dial, hoping I don't suddenly become short of breath and start
stammering like a junior high kid asking for a date to the prom.
*click* 'hello?'
'hi, Pixie, it's Robert'
'hi, Robert, I was hoping you'd check your messages before going to
bed.'
'yeah, well, I wanted a distraction'
'so, was I right? is there something on your mind?'
'yeah, you could say that'
'and is is about me specifically?'
'yeah...'
'okay, you don't have to say any more. do you wanna go down to the
E and talk?'
'okay, I guess' She's being really frank and easy-going about
this... I hope we are talking about the same thing.
'okay, see you there'
'bye, Pixie' *click*
I'm kinda relieved, but I also feel like I have a whole new anxiety.
Am I about to engage in a conversation that'll change my life in one night?
Is she going to try to let me down easy? Is there something preventing her
from being with someone? No use in overthinking it, though; all my
questions will hopefully be answered soon I just gotta get down to the caf?
and take it from there.
As I walk there, I'm humming a song I just wrote, trying to prevent
myself from rehearsing what I want to say. That never works out, rehearsing
like that. Usually I end up anticipating something that's different from
how things really happen, and all the things that sounded great in my head
end up being inappropriate or counterproductive.
I walk in, and she's sitting there, sipping her soda, my usual latte
waiting for me in the seat across from her. She smiles when she sees me. I
attempt to make a little joke to break the tension, although I'm sure I'm
the only one who needs it.
"I see you've already ordered for me. Isn't that the guy's job?"
A little laugh. Not condescending, or insincere. Just a giggle. I
sit down, and I see a kind of smile that I don't think I've ever seen on
Pixie's face before. It's almost a shy smile. She's always modest, but
never shy. Probably sensing I don't have a clue what to say, she starts.
"Sam never told you why I don't date or anything, did she?"
"No"
"Yeah, I didn't think she would, she's good that way." She's still
smiling, and I'm wondering what the big secret could possibly be. She
continues. "Y'see, I always hated my father. He didn't hit me or anything,
he was just a jerk, and a bit of a drunk. And all the guys at my high
school were jerks, too. I never met someone I could imagine wanting to be
with in a relationship. I started to hate guys. Then I met Susan. She was
gay, and I had a few gay friends, but mostly she was just a pal. She seemed
to know things about me that I didn't know myself, and I enjoyed spending
time with her. I was able to go out and do things with friends, without any
pressure of any kind."
I'm starting to really relax. I never thought I'd know this much
about her. I don't see her any differently. I always thought that I'd see
her differently if she became less mysterious, but nothing's changed so far.
She's still wonderful, and I'm amazed at how much I'm learning about her.
"After a lot of soul searching, my affection towards her, and my
distaste for guys, had me starting to believe I was gay, too, and I loved
the idea. Soon, me and Susan were lovers, and I lived as a lesbian for 3
years, sticking with Susan the whole time. Neither of us were sluts, we
only had each other, and she taught me things I never thought were possible,
and I'm not just talking about sex."
I nod, as if to say 'I understand', even though I'm sure I never
really could.
"Well, me and Susan were walking home one night, and a car sped
by..." her voice drops a bit... I think she's going to cry "... Someone
shot Susan. There were three gunshots from the car. two just broke some
windows, but the third hit Susan. She died instantly, and I screamed and
cried. I ran away to Moosejaw for a month so I wouldn't have to face
anything that reminded me of Susan. I didn't even stick around for her
funeral."
Suddenly, this conversation is going in a direction I never would've
expected. I never thought I'd be hearing Pixie confide like this. I'm so
used to her listening to this kind of stuff that it's easy to forget that
she's a person, too, with problems just like everyone else. I don't know if
I should say something, or at least put my hand on hers as a comforting
gesture. I decide to just let her continue and hope I'll know when to do or
say something.
"That's why I burn incense all the time. Susan liked incense, and
since I missed her funeral, I figure I'll burn the incense like the priest
would've. It became a habit after awhile, it doesn't always make me think
of Susan. But every once in awhile, I do. She always called the ashes
'pixie dust'. That's why I started calling myself Pixie"
"Anyway, after my 'getaway', and a lot more soul searching, I
realized that I wasn't gay, I had just convinced myself that I was to try
and fill in the gaps in my life, and because it just felt right at the time.
But my feelings for Susan never changed, and they never will. She taught me
what love really means. But I still found it hard to let myself love
someone beyond the kind of love that a sister or mother gives. I tried
once, but the guy was kind of a flake. He left me after 2 weeks."
A long pause. She stares into her glass, turning it around slowly,
as if silently saying "and that brings us to today". The she looks up at
me, a tear or two almost falling from her cheek, but a warm smile in her
eyes and lips.
"Robert, I'd like to try again. I've grown to really love you as a
person, and something tells me that it's time to rejoin the real world."
I smile, finally putting my hand on hers. I can't think of any words
to say, but somehow I don't have to.
"I need to do something," she says, "and I want you to come with me."
"Sure, anything you want."
I pay for the drinks and we go back to her place for a moment. While
there, she gathers up some incense ashes in a little bottle tied to one of
her necklaces.
Without any talking, we just walk a little out of town, near the
church, and into the cemetery. It's calm, but not spooky. We slowly
approach one of the headstones. I barely see the name. Susan DesCartes.
I can't see Pixie's face, but I can somehow tell she has a bit of a sad
smile. I hear her sniffle a bit, and I'm close to tears myself. Letting go
of my hand, she approaches the grave and kneels on the ground. She takes
the tiara of flowers off her head, and, almost ceremoniously, places it on
the grave. She then opens the little bottle of ashes and sprinkles it on
the grave, and the tiara. She stands again, and comes to me. She suddenly
puts her arms around me, and bursts into tears. For the next half hour, I
hold her, hearing her cry, and staring at Pixie Dust.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #849 - BY: UGLINESS MAN - 9/24/99 ]